I knew it was wrong (But I am palmed it)
by Zahu-the-stereotypic-killer
Summary: it wasn't something wrong; Bucky had convinced him 70 years ago. Yet, today, in the 21st century, it seems perverse. The first time was an accident. He didn't mean to revive his old aching—to feel the tightness of the dress and smooth caresses of a lover. [ A.k.A: Steve in lingerie, and Tony getting so happy about it. Superhusbands ]


It's not a starting because Steve felt this way before he saw the skimpy dresses online; something named baby doll—it was way before the serum, when he felt maladjusted among the baggy clothing—when he felt a churning hot desire to try _them_ on.

He told Bucky. He asked if this was sick, but Bucky smiled and whispered into his ears (he remembers him being drunk, the smell of oppressive malt was somewhat addictive) "Baby doll, I want to see you like that,"

In their small studio, the widows were facing walls of many other buildings and it was always too hot. It wasn't exactly an ideal place to stay but they had a bedroom and a large, old, rickety bed and roof over their heads. It was alright.

It was more than alright. The studio was haughty and private.

The first time it was a gift, Bucky bought him. The thing was wounded around a paper, tightly packed, when he was presented with it. Bucky was slightly out of breath but watched him, gauging his reaction while he slowly opened the wrappings.

Steve felt embarrassed. He wanted to yell at his friend, wanted to hug him, and then punch him for even bringing this.

"Buck, Bucky…I can't, I am not. I am not supposed to,"

"Come on." Bucky insisted, his eyes gleaming, hands already over Steve's shoulder. "I want to see,"

Steve sighed and palmed the material; it was black, silky among his finger and quite lacy. He shuddered with the thought of how it might feel on him, how _he_ would look.

"Just, Just this once. "

It was dark outside; Bucky nursed a bottle of cheap liquor. His stance was lazy upon the dirty mattress, his eyes wide and clear. He moved forward lightly, and whispered quietly, or cursed…Steve couldn't hear over his own heart drumming heavily against.

The…the _panties_ were snug against Steve, a little stretched against his crotch but otherwise perfectly complementing with the dark flush his skin acquired. His rear was half clad, and the only fleshiest part of his body—it was hot, but he wanted to cover. He _felt_ beautiful, kneeling onto the bed, fingers tickling with nerves and his stomach warm with affection.

Bucky's hand were splayed against his thighs, warm and Steve wanted his hands all over—to slip down his back and rub against his neck—

"Baby doll, "He smiled, "You are beautiful."

* * *

It wasn't something wrong; Bucky had convinced him 70 years ago. Yet, today, in the 21st century, it seems perverse. The first time was an accident. He didn't mean to revive his old aching—to feel the tightness of the dress and smooth caresses of a lover.

A lover—he had that, an eccentric one; a genius with maladaptive behavior and unconscious suicidal tendencies. Really, he wasn't complaining—he loves Tony. He loves him too much for his own good; Bruce had said once. Can you two keep the PDA aside for now? We are at war. Natasha reminded. Ow, fuck, I need to bleach my eyes—Clint complained.

Or, well. They are doing fine—if you don't count Tony's grand gestures (like the last time when Steve said ponies were cute and voila! Tony _bought_ him a pony the next morning) of love.

Now, Steve never thought his dirty secret would revive itself like the radioactive zombie rats who were refusing to die last week. Yet, it was dirtier than those rats—he never meant this to happen, really. One moment he was collecting his harvest (shut up, farmvill is a marvelous creation) and the next there was _lingerie_ advertisement up across the left screen of his tablet. His mind stuttered, stopped completely and—he seemed to have sold off his harvest.

He blackened the screen and carefully keeps the tablet beside him, taking in deep calming breaths— _holy mother of god._ Suddenly, the want just punched him.

The sex was good, amazing even because it was _Tony._

Tony's room was nothing like Steve expected—not extravagant, not well lived in; just bare of elements. If he judged him on such low criteria then he himself would be a hypocrite; his own room was bland. It might be because he spends most of this time camping in his workshop, the workshop which more intimate than the bedroom (Steve remembers because they had slow, maddening sex there).

Right now he has his brain cells fried. He cannot think in the same line and often speaking gibberish—there is a sweat on his body, and he is trembling. He tries to find purchase onto the soft sheets but can't. There are hands pushing him down, torturing slowly—the hands are warm, his cock hard against soft mattress and he wants to rut against it.

There is Tony, still kneeled and pressed against his ass, his hands parting his cheeks and placing soft, wet obscene kisses on his hole. Steve is moaning, he can't stop—there is a limit to all this and tries to call Tony out on it, to fuck him already. All he utters are cut of words and loud groans. There is a finger tracing his foot, digging softly against the arch. There is a long dirty lick and Steve presses into the bed, eyes hurting because he got them clenched and eyes lashes watery—his balls tighten then releases, softly spilling and whitening his vision.

He feels the bed dip beside him and then Tony's lying on his side.

"That was a record." Tony grins, his eyes crinkling. Steve frowns, rolls over and pulls his body closer letting his arms drape over Tony's shoulder. He can still feel the hardness of Tony's cock against his abs and pushes slightly, he grasp. He takes hold of the hardness and pumps it, moving his hand expertly over the skin. Tony chokes, their legs tangling with each other. Steve runs his thumb over slit and here he was mouth open in a silent 'o'. He takes the chance and kisses him softly, attentively—a hot trail of arousal already leading into his own cock. Tony's tongue licks his teeth, then biting softly into his bottom lips. His hands were already slippery.

"Same for you," Steve says.

* * *

The package is delivered on Wednesday.

Steve was honestly perplexed when, albeit sneakily, he surfed the web pages on lingerie. Every websites just added iron-hot arousal to grow in his stomach, there were different options and each was…fascinating. However if he was ever self conscious about his physic, it was all before the serum—now it feels ridiculous to even question his body. Yet, when he sees those images…he can't help but feel how different it would from last time. All of them weren't in his size anyway.

However, there was this specific website. This website which catered to the need of men, he stumbled upon it suddenly and flushed red. That means he wasn't the only one.

The days after that he took it upon himself on discovering his needs— the right size, the right type and what he might be comfortable in. He was baffled that men's lingerie had same extensions as women and honestly, that was a relief.

His first order gave him anxiety. The package arrived next week and it nearly made him scream, because Clint. _Clint_ handed him the well wrapped pack, without as much as a disgusted glance, and asked what it was.

"Oh, you know. Stuffs. Bought from the internet."

"Huh."

Thankfully, he didn't question anything else.

Late afternoon, the tower is awfully bare. Tony is probably tinkering in his workshop, with Bruce perhaps. Clint and Natasha are off to god knows where they go on Thursdays (he heard something along the line of strip club). The silence is palatable; the silence is all he needs.

3 months into their rendezvous, Tony's room gained a little character—or not, it might be just Steve's thought. Yet, right now…he felt safe here. He talks softly to himself, informing Jarvis to pull binds on the large glass panes, to dims the light slightly.

His heart palpitates, nerves tingling around his body and he is sweating—unattractively. He feels the soft material digging onto his body, slowly popping the buttons and sliding out of it. Steve thumbs along his bare chest, standing in front of a mirror and watches with fascination how much he had changed; the rippling muscle on his stomach, arms flexing and nothing—nothing delicate.

Steve exhales loudly, pinching the bridge of his nose. Is it all right?

He takes away the next offending material, coming out slowly off his pants, legs fumbling along the way and –damn it. He is Captain America! He can do this.

He hadn't opened the pack right away and it was stacked in the space between the bed and mattress. He took it out with one swift motion and kept it on the bed, sighing. He felt along the seams, softly tearing the tape and revealing a transparent packet. The name of the company was written on it: _Deflower._ Ha.

The thing itself was beautiful; the laces looked too delicate in the picture but now it's just sturdy enough. The black floral filled the lower part of the panty and the Bra was almost see through, there was a satin lace garter attached which practically screamed at Steve _wear me._

He took a deep breath and slipped off his white briefs, catching the panties with garter with rapidity and slipping them on. It took some time to strap on the garter around his meaty thighs but it was alright. The bra wasn't easy to wear either (how the hell is he going to fasten them?) and took more than five minutes of struggling.

"Babe, honey, listen. Brue is secretly an asshole—Holy mother of _Steve?!"_

Steve turns around so fast that he almost fell down tangling his legs among his discarded clothing. His head was spinning, hot, red embarrassment and somewhat a weird arousal was spiking. What the hell was Tony doing here? When did he get in? He was supposed to be locked down in his god damn workshop doing whatever the hell he did with those machines—

"What are you doing here?" Steve's voice trembled, he was trying o find something to cover himself up. Tony frowned and for a moment, his brown eyes lighting up—realization seems to hit him. Steve expected disgust, anger—perhaps he will not say anything outright, but surly Tony will be disturbed. Instead, Tony made a beeline towards him, his eyes still glazing but now-now it seems like delight and…oh.

He knows when Tony is aroused.

"

Tony…?" he tries again.

"God, Steve," Tony responded, his voice raspy. He moved it hand placing them on Steve's abdomen and rubbing slow circles. Steve shuddered, his back felt empty and he desperately wanted Tony hands over there. He moved forward, taking up space and Tony tucked his face into his neck. He breathed warm and damp, his hands traveling northward and finally landing on his chest. The warmness and want was too much, Steve was going to explode—his knees felt weak, he needed to lie down.

"Steve," he felt Tony speaking against his neck. "The things you do to me…fuck,"

Tony was obviously hard; he felt it against his thigh, gyrating in slow motion. He was hard himself, he groaned into Tony's ears.

"You like this?" Steve grated out, breathing heavily, "You don't feel disgusted?"

Tony Stopped suddenly, the hands that were circling his nipples slipped around his neck pulling him lower and finally into Tony's chapped but hot lips. The kiss was chaste, nothing to do with the arousal—"Steve, You don't know how sexy you are looking right now. I am about to jump you any second now—I am just wondering, is it my birthday? Because seriously, .Ever."

Steve laughed, and then chocked off a moan when Tony cupped him through his panties. His hands were busy again, pinching and twisting Steve's left nipple and the other grabbing his ass. Steve groaned against Tony's hair, barely feeling the movement as he was lightly tossed into the bed. Tony followed soon after.

"You don't mind this?" Steve asked again, unsure.

"Darling, I love this. Telling JARVIS to record this will kill your mood?"

Steve chuckled, and then smiles feeling kind of light. "How do I look?"

Tony's smile was blinding, the space beside his eyes crinkling, his knuckles brushing Steve's cheek. "Beautiful, baby doll."

* * *

Let me blame Sabrecmc on ao3 and all other lingerie on Steve fic for this, okay? Fuck, I love comments. Do that, ily


End file.
